


The Illusionist

by Laura JV (jacquez)



Series: Dog Tags [7]
Category: The Sentinel
Genre: Drama, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-05-10
Updated: 2013-05-10
Packaged: 2017-12-11 09:51:18
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 580
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/796923
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/jacquez/pseuds/Laura%20JV
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Simon finds out.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Illusionist

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks to Debra Fran Baker for looking this over.  
> 

"Simon." 

I stopped in my tracks; turned towards the alley. "Who's there?" The voice was -- couldn't be -- 

"Hey, Simon." Sandburg -- _Sandburg_ \-- stepped out from behind a dumpster. I shook my head, trying to clear my eyes -- Sandburg had shadows like bricks sliding over his skin -- and then he smiled and held out his hand. 

I yanked him closer and clapped his shoulder. "I thought you were dead!" 

"Hell, no," he said. "Thought we established my unkillable status back when Alex tried to drown me." 

"Very funny, Sandburg. Jim?" 

"He's fine." Sandburg let go of my hand and stepped back into shadow again, still smiling. He looked up the side of the building, and the smile faded. "We've looked all over the city," he said. "There's so much damage. She hurts, Simon. She called us home." 

I shook my head again; he was blurring at the edges, his voice going hollow. "Sandburg, what the hell are you--" 

"Thank you for taking care of her," he said. "Be seeing you." He stepped backwards again, and I couldn't see him, so I moved into the alley-- 

\--and there was no one there. 

* * *

"Simon." 

I set my beer down on the table and put my hand on my gun. 

"Simon, man, it's me!" Sandburg was standing in my dining room, right across the table, his arms folded across his chest. 

"Sandburg, dammit!" 

"Sorry." He hitched a hip up on the table and looked me over. 

"How did you get in here?" I'd nailed the windows shut after the quake; the back door was still boarded up. 

He waved a dismissive hand. "Never mind that. I didn't get a chance to really _see_ you last week in the alley. How's Daryl?" 

I shook my head. "Driving me crazy." 

"Girls? Boys? Drugs?" 

"No, film school." 

Sandburg threw his head back and laughed. "That's the Daryl I know and love." He stopped and looked thoughtful. "Knew and loved, more like." 

"Sandburg, _are_ you dead?" 

"No," he answered. "I don't think so. Though you might be crazy, before you ask." 

I picked up my beer and took a long drink. "Figures. I'd have to be crazy to hallucinate _you_ instead of a lady with legs up to _here_ and a fine, fine--" 

"Speaking of fine asses, I have a message from Jim." 

"More information than I needed, Sandburg--" 

"Oh, come off it, Simon." He slid off the table and went to the window to look out at the street. "Jim says -- Jim says he loves you, and to trust him. And -- Simon -- not to get in his way. Our way." 

"Sandburg, what the hell are you _talking_ about?" My shoulderblades started to itch; whatever he was going to say, I was going to _hate_ it. 

He shrugged. "She's our city, Simon." He smiled, but the window warped the reflection like a funhouse mirror. "Come on. Play Commissioner Gordon to our Batman and Robin. It'll be great." 

"Great." I glared at him, "Is this some kind of sentinel thing?" 

"Yeah," he said. "Yeah, it's some kind of sentinel thing." He put his hand on the window glass and closed his eyes. "Be seeing you, Simon." 

And he walked right through the window, out onto my front lawn, and in an instant had vanished into the twilight. 

* * *

  
Disclaimer: _The Sentinel_ is owned etc. by Pet Fly, Inc. These pages and the stories on them are not meant to infringe on, nor are they endorsed by, Pet Fly, Inc. and Paramount. 


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